Humbug
by Sadie Elfgirl
Summary: It wasn't that she didn't like Christmas.  Well, that wasn't true.  It *was* that she didn't like Christmas.   It was late, she was tired, and the bright, cheerful trappings of the office only made her scowl more prominent.
1. Mary's Ghost  AKA Bah, Dumbass!

**Greetings to you all. I am happy to be here again with another story to share with the lovely IPS fandom. :) The last one was just too much fun to write, so I had to have another go. :)**

**This story is not used for profit; I own nothing of In Plain Sight. If I did, Abby would have walked into a bullet way back at the beginning of the season. I am merely using the characters of this show for my own nefarious purposes, and will put them back when I'm done playing with them.**

**I'm going to be trying something new here...this is a kind of Christmas Carol done IPS style. Comments, reviews, critiques and constructive criticism are all welcome. Hope y'all enjoy!**

**0-0-0-0**

Mary stood, stretching out the kinks in her spine. Her gaze drifted to the window and she sighed softly. The early darkness of winter had descended hours ago, and the city lights sparkled against the velvety background of the night. Perhaps it was her imagination but they seemed to be more predominantly red and green than normal. Maybe that wasn't so odd, considering the date.

Christmas Eve.

With a scowl, the blond inspector turned back around. Someone (Delia) had draped festive garlands throughout the office, complete with twinkling lights. One of the strands even pumped out tinny, off key mutilations of Christmas Carols. Or at least it _had_, until that _terribly_ unfortunate encounter with a pair of extraordinarily sharp scissors and a pissed off marshal. Mary shook her head in disgust at the seasonal decorations. There was even a little tree set up in the kitchen area. Positioned perfectly so that its gold and silver tinsel kept drifting into the coffee pot.

It wasn't that she didn't like Christmas. Well, that wasn't true. It _was_ that she didn't like Christmas. Family togetherness, sappy TV specials, horrible gifts that circled as white elephants for generations…Not to mention the tacky yard ornaments and heinous lighting plans with enough wattage to safely land aircraft.

Suffice to say, this was not her favorite time of the year. Brandi and Jinx became ever more demanding of her time, and witnesses got extra weepy and/or unmanageable depending on their temperament. She and Marshall had been putting out fires all day. Witnesses wanting to return home…trying to return home…asking for contact with their loved ones…and there was that ugly incident with the witness who tried to hop a bus only to get into a fight with the bus driver…

It was late, she was tired, and the bright, cheerful trappings of the office only made her scowl more prominent.

0-0-0-0

Marshall shrugged long arms into the sleeves of his coat as his blue eyes sought his partner. The whole office was a blaze of uncustomary color. Delia had taken on the task of outfitting the workspace with holiday trappings, and for the most part, she had done so rather tastefully. There was the unpleasant strand of lights with the musical properties, but Mary had taken care of that with her usual flair.

Speaking of Mary…

Marshall sighed. All of the color in the office served to emphasize the rather bleak emptiness that surrounded her. She had steadfastly (and sometimes profanely) refused to permit any decorations of any kind within a ten foot radius of her desk. Not that her adamant refusals to enter into the holiday spirit had deterred Delia in any way shape or form, but it did account for the enormous pile of holly, poinsettias, and other Christmassy garlands peeking out of the trash. If she had been allowed her way, she would've stripped the entire office of them, but Stan stepped in. Her desk space was one thing, the entire office was shared.

And now she stood scowling at the brilliant colors and shimmering baubles that surrounded her. The undecorated space encompassing her reminded Marshall of a black hole. Draining light and color out of the rest of the universe without ever actually acquiring it for herself.

"Ready to head home, Ebenezer?"

"And a bah humbug to you too, smartass," Mary snapped, even as she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever feel the need to indulge in a little goodwill toward your fellow man? You know…shrug off the cloak of cynicism you habitually gird your loins with and enjoy people? Just to shake things up?"

"Firstly," Mary held up a finger as she strode towards the door, "don't say loins. Secondly, my indulging in goodwill would involve a couple of headshots into some of our witness's thick skulls. Thirdly, no." She pulled open the gate and smiled at him. "And you should be thankful for that, because it saves you so much paperwork." She waited for Marshall as he slid a few papers into his own bag. "There would be the whole lethal force amount of red tape and then you would be faced with the decision of lying to cover my ass or finding me a psych ward somewhere."

Marshall followed her through the gate to the elevators. "You say that like it would be a difficult decision."

Mary began her ritual of beating the elevator button. Marshall had often likened it to the ancients performing a dance to bring about the rain…repetitive, yet futile. She glared at him, as though she knew exactly what he had just been thinking. "So, psych ward?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me."

"Do me a favor if you go the loony bin route and pick out one that doesn't allow guests, okay? That way Brandi and Jinx can't drop by to borrow money."

The lanky lawman chuckled. "I'll check around."

Elevator doors slid open, allowing the partners access. Marshall noted the way Mary leaned against the wall as they descended. Her scowl was deepening as they descended, green eyes glaring at the walls. He frowned.

Part of him had assumed that the decorations continually strung over and about her desk space by their obnoxiously perky co-worker had been the main source of her bad mood. Another part suspected that the true reason for her ire ran deeper. "Something troubling you?"

"I loathe this time of year."

"Really? You hide your true feelings so well." Marshall got a quick smile from his partner, but noted that it did not quite reach her eyes. "Care to elaborate on why?"

She snorted, indelicately. "Same old story year after year. Biggest freaking con game in history." The elevator doors slid open and she stalked through, her partner beside her. "Everyone is supposed to be filled with feelings of 'goodwill' and 'Christmas spirit', while being suckered into buying expensive, useless gifts for family members. Most of which won't even be appreciated but returned as soon as possible. As for feelings of goodwill and Christmas spirit, apparently the standard holiday stupor does not extend to parking lots." Reaching her car, Mary jerked the door open and tossed her bag into the back.

Marshall leaned against the car frame, watching his partner as she ranted. Her eyebrows were drawn into an ever deepening scowl as she continued to rail against the hypocritical driving practices of the holiday masses. He sensed that this was not the true source of her disdain, but she was not actually trying to hide something from him.

She didn't know why she was so pissed. Something about the holiday was ticking her off, and she was searching for reasons to explain rather than dig out her true feelings.

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest as she kept going. To what she did not wish to see, his partner was deaf and blind. Sometimes it amazed him to watch her. She would pick up on the slightest nuance of a witness' voice; notice if the wording used to describe a relationship sounded rehearsed…and be totally ignorant of a man's intentions when he asked her if they could get together.

Totally miss the point when he told her that she needed someone who would make her think. Call her on her B.S. Someone who was…messy.

"And don't get me started on the whole ugly family together time side of Christmas. Whoever invented a holiday that required people to spend the day crammed into a room with relatives they avoid all the rest of the year should be one of those bastards I share my own particular brand of goodwill with." Mary shook her head and crossed her arms.

"I'll start checking out the behavioral health clinics," he said calmly. "So are you…"

"Heading home to a beer? That's my plan. Just as soon as I clear the street bums off my car." She gave his shoulder a push and smiled.

Marshall smiled back and straightened from his slouched position, gallantly offering her his hand to help her into her vehicle.

"Jackass," she grumbled affectionately, slapping it aside and settling into the driver's seat.

0-0-0-0

Mary was already pulling on her seat belt when a frantic tapping caught her attention. Marshall was rapping his knuckles against the glass of her window, his phone pressed to his ear; face serious.

_Oh dear God, why do you hate me so much?_ If she had to deal with one more stupid, whiny, homesick witness trying to sneak a phone call or a flight out of Albuquerque she was going to stand on the ledge of the office and scream until the men in white coats came to drag her away in a straight jacket. Maybe Marshall would follow through on his promise with the psych ward and she wouldn't have to see family tomorrow after all.

She rolled the window down quickly. "What? What's the problem?"

That _grin_ of his suddenly split her partner's face from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas!" he said cheerfully as he quickly tucked his phone away and turned on his heel. His long legs carried him away from her car before she could come up with a counter shot; leaving her the options of yelling 'dumbass' across the parking lot like a lunatic, running him over as she left, or ignoring him for the moment while secretly plotting to disorganize all of his pens the next time she was in the office.

She went with door number three. Maybe she would unfold all of those stupid origami cranes too. And steal his pillow. A nasty smile curled the corners of her mouth. Maybe she would put his cell phone in jello.

Grumbling under her breath, the blond marshal put her car in reverse and pulled out.

0-0-0-0

Mary pulled into her drive and sat for a moment. With a sigh of frustration, she leaned her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes. Why was she so on edge? Part of it was the whole Christmas mess. She found herself to grow more cynical every year, hardened by con artists ripping people off with crummy Christmas gifts, holiday shoppers nearly shanking one another in a desperate attempt to beat each other out for the best deals, and Olsen twin TV specials. She made a face. What was up with those smarmy crap-tastic things anyway? Add to her already less than sunny outlook a co-worker who apparently couldn't respect personal boundaries (the whole office was her personal space, whatever Stan said to the contrary) and a bitch of a day where witnesses were concerned and she had more than enough reason to boil someone in their own pudding. She was also quite willing to try staking a caroler through the heart with holly. She could be a Christmas vampire slayer. The next Buffy.

Carolers counted as blood sucking demons, right? Maybe not blood sucking. Song sucking. Melody sucking. Sucking the melody out of the song. Just plain sucking. Reason enough for sudden and painful staking with holiday ornamentation.

As attractive a mental picture of chasing down carolers was, it couldn't lighten her mood for long. There was something under her usual layer of irritation with the world in general. Something under the deeper level of Yuletide cynicism.

Whatever it was, it could wait. Ruthlessly pushing the feeling back under the layers it had started to sneak out of Mary caught the handle of her door and shoved it open. She unfolded herself from her car and snagged her bag out of the backseat when a shiver rushed down her spine. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, December wind.

Mary straightened, alert. Her hand moved to rest on her Glock, fingers curling around the handle. Green eyes moved down the street carefully, taking everything in. Nothing was moving. Nothing was stirring. She didn't even feel _watched_ so much as…vaguely creeped out. Like someone had just walked over her grave. Gave her a turn. _Note to self; punch Marshall. Using expressions like 'gave me a turn' has to be his influence._

Slowly, she removed her hand from her weapon and shook her head, trying to ease away the feeling of _expectation_. Mary shot a glance at her door, semi-prepared to see the disembodied head of a former partner taking up residence.

_Jacob Marley was dead to begin with. As dead as a doornail…_ She could've sworn she heard Marshall's voice quoting the Christmas Carol and actually started to reach and pinch him before she remembered that he wasn't there.

Her door remained plain wood.

Mary shook herself in disgust. She was being ridiculous. Of _course_ her door was wood. With slightly more force than necessary, she slammed her car door shut. The very solid, very _real_ crash of the latch comforted her and broke the stillness of the night.

Her breath frosted the air as Mary let it out with a 'whoosh'. A glimmer of a memory tickled at the back of her mind. A little girl holding a pretend cigarette in between two fingers as she blew smoke rings towards the stars. Leaning against a warm presence beside her. Enjoying the frosty stillness of the New Jersey winter night with the man who was her whole world.

A sudden surge of anger broke the memory into glittering shards. What was _with_ her tonight? Why all the mopy dredging up of old memories and feelings? The blond marshal kicked her front wheel to relieve her frustration. She spent the next several seconds hopping on one foot, swearing bitterly at the stabbing pain of her jammed toes. _This day sucks._

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Mary trudged towards the front door, still wincing.

She jammed her key into the lock and looked up to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the glass windows.

Except it wasn't her reflection.

A little girl with blond hair falling past her shoulders stared back at her, smiling. The same little girl who had stood with her father on Christmas Eve to smoke a pretend cigarette and watch the stars spin on their distant, frozen courses.

Normally, the blond WitSec inspector was the epitome of stoicism. She could face down armed assailants, bandy scathing repartee with hardened criminals and had once shook hands with Chuck without spitting in his eye. (She did manage to bruise his hand though. Pussy.)

Seeing a reflection in her door of her six year old self was a little much.

Mary jumped back with a gasp and a curse, stumbling and landing with a painful 'thump' on her ass. She stared up at the door. From her position on the ground, she could not longer see her reflection, but the image was seared into her mind. Mary shuddered. Was she finally cracking up? Had the stress of the day really pushed her over the edge into Lala Land?

A scowl suddenly drew her eyebrows together into a V over green eyes. If she was going to go crazy she would be damned if she would let them institutionalize her for seeing things that weren't there. She was going to _earn_ her place in the loony bin with a few well placed bullets.

Marshall had better carry through with his promise too.

The blonde inspector pushed herself to her feet, ready to confront whatever she saw.

The reflection was only herself. Clutching the strap of her bag. Her hair a little disheveled by the sudden descent, and her face pale and strained. Mary took a cautious step closer, half expecting to see her face morph into the rounder, smiling expression of her childhood.

Nothing happened.

She must have imagined it.

"Get a grip," she whispered to herself before seizing her keys once more and pushing the door open.

Despite her own insistence that she had conjured the apparition out of the fatigue of her overworked brain, Mary couldn't help glancing around the door as she stepped inside. Nothing there. Of course. Of course there wasn't anything there. There wasn't.

She then proceeded to turn on all the lights in the house and look through all the rooms. Even as she did so, the blond marshal inwardly berated herself. This was ridiculous. What she had seen had to have been the lingering after images of her maudlin reminisces. There was nothing creepy, spooky, supernatural (insane) or otherworldly about it. She was tired, and thinking about herself as a little girl. That's all there was to it.

These were the thoughts that were running through her mind as she pushed open the door of her spare bedroom. Jinx used to sleep here. The room was empty as all the others...except for the envelope sitting on the dresser.

The pink envelope.

Mary stared, green eyes widening. She had been in this room since her mother had left. Helped Jinx move her belongings to the former alcoholic's new apartment; cleaned and changed the bedding. She was absolutely certain that the room had been empty, and even more certain _that_ particular envelope had not been there.

Slowly, she stretched out her hand and lifted it. It had to be a mistake. It couldn't be...

It was.

The first letter she had ever received from her father.

What was it doing here? How did it get here?

Frowning, Mary flicked the lights back off and wandered towards the kitchen. Her father's letter was placed on the counter carefully as the blond marshal dug into the fridge for the beer she had been looking forward to. She'd ask Jinx about the letter later. Maybe her mother had been here when the marshal was at work and had pulled it out. She would have to have another talk with Jinx and Brandi about 'personal boundaries.' Like her house. She really wanted them to stay out of it unless...

Well, unless the four horsemen descended and there wasn't another structure standing.

Even then, she wanted them to knock and ask permission to come in.

Yawning, Mary slouched her way to her bedroom and kicked her boots off and into the closet, closely followed by her jacket. The beer bottle clinked softly as she set it down on her dresser and went to pull her shirt over her head.

She froze, hands wadded into the material of her sweater, green eyes fixed on her dresser top.

Sitting beside her beer bottle was a pink envelope.

She was imagining things. She had to be.

Mary slowly released her top and reached out a hand that wasn't quite steady. No, it was her father's letter all right. How on earth...? She must have accidentally picked it up and carried it back into the bedroom without realizing it. She tapped the letter against her fingertips absently as she backed up to her bed and sat down.

The paper came out and unfolded easily. The letter was worn and floppy from being read and reread over many years. Her long fingers held it delicately; carefully. Green eyes scanned the lines that she knew by heart. Anymore, her comfort came from seeing the shape of the letters. Knowing that her father had thought of her in the last few minutes that he was in her life and had taken a pen to inscribe a message to her. Just to her. His writing was fluid and neat; easily read by a young girl. He made his l's and g's the same way she did.

_Mary, sweetheart..._

He was the last man alive to call her sweetheart.

_Please take care of your mother, and your precious, baby sister. They'll need your strength to make it through the difficult times ahead._

Kind of a lot to lay on an almost seven year old. But of all the things she had clung to over the years, that plea had been the most insistent. Take care of Brandi and Jinx. And she had. Against all reason, she had taken care of her family to the best of her meager abilities as a young child, and then continued to do so as she grew ever deeper into the role of their protector.

_Know that you are so special._

Really?

_I love you more than anything else in this world._

Really? Mary bit her lip. Fighting the sudden prick of hot tears. _Then where are you, Daddy?_

_Stay sweet, and warm and kind and funny. And do great things._

Sweet and warm and kind and funny. Now _there_ was a group of adjectives not used to describe her in...years. Years and years. When had that changed? Mary closed her eyes and sighed, the letter lying limply in her hands. She had started to change right then.

Saddled with the responsibility that no seven year old should have, she had changed. Yes, she had taken care of her mother and sister. Yes, she would even say she had done great things. Notable things, at the very least.

Sweet? Warm? Kind?

No. She had not remained any of those things. Funny, maybe.

The little girl that had read this letter almost thirty years ago was gone. Dead. All that was left was a memory of her.

Mary opened her eyes and gazed into the oval mirror that stood by her dresser. She half expected to see her younger self reflected there, but of course she didn't.

She saw a woman coming up on middle age who was tougher than nails. Her eyes were hard and cold; mouth set in an unbending line. There were small lines beginning to form around the corners of her eyes, but they weren't laugh lines. There might be traces of that little girl still there, but Mary did not want to search for them. She was who she was.

Standing abruptly, she quickly folded the letter back into its envelope. Stupid holiday. Making her all sappy.

She wasn't sweet and kind and warm. She was hard, bitter and acerbic. Scathing. Sarcastic. She was still taking care of her family...but they didn't need her as much anymore. Jinx had sobered up. Brandi had Peter.

What did Mary have?

A box of old letters, a career, and enough bad attitude to keep any number of adolescents on their parents' last nerves.

She tapped the envelope against her fingers again. Thinking. Was that what she wanted in her life? Ten years from now? Twenty years from now?

Giving herself a shake, Mary snorted in disgust. This was ridiculous. "Bah," she snapped. She almost said 'humbug', but decided that it was just too...Marshall. She didn't need to change. Her life might not be the happy festival that some people enjoyed, but it was hers. So what if she was alone? People were scum. They annoyed her constantly. So what if she drove humanity away with the biting edge of her words? Everything she said was almost undoubtedly deserved.

If she had any regrets about the amount of time she poured into her career, she ruthlessly suppressed them. Her job was important.

With quick strides, Mary stalked to her closet and swung the door open. She reached up, snagging her box of letters off the shelf. As she pulled the box forward with a jerk, another box slid forward.

Mary tried to catch it, lost her grip on the first, and ended up getting smacked in the face with one and not catching either. The boxes fell to the floor, their contents bursting forth and littering the ground.

The blond inspector groaned. This day just got better and better.

Her old letters mingled with pictures. The other box must have been full of them. Crouching, Mary began to scoop them up. She wasn't taking the time to look at them, just stuffing them haphazardly back into their container.

A clock in her house chimed softly, once.

Mary's eyebrows drew together. One o'clock? Couldn't possibly be _that_ late. Stupid clock must be broken...

She turned her attention back to the pictures.

Her hands stilled.

Pictures of a little girl spilled across the floor. Most of them included the smiling face of a handsome man. Mary slowly picked up one of the photos.

Time had faded the colors, but she could still see the little flowers embroidered on the light green dress the little girl was wearing. James Wiley Shannon held her in his arms, pointing toward the camera, trying to get her to turn her face into the flash. But the child of years ago wasn't interested in getting her picture taken. Her eyes were on her father. A smile split her face from ear to ear.

Mary swallowed hard. She sank into a sitting position on the ground, staring at the photo. How old had she been when this was taken? Three? Maybe four. It had been Christmas time then too. She could see the tree behind her father.

The inspector reached out and scooped pictures into her lap. Curling her legs under her, Mary looked back into the shadows of her past.

**First chapter is done! Woohoo! Please let me know what you think! I may have mentioned once or twice in previous stories how much I love reviews, and I am pleased to report that I remain completely consistent. I LOVE reviews. :) **

**This story may take a little longer getting out than the last one, so to be safe I'm going to try posting once a week, on Fri. If I get the chapter done earlier, I will definitely post earlier. See you next week!**


	2. The Father of the Free Spirit

**Greetings readers! I am posting super early! Huzzah! Yay, it's a miracle. :) Anyhoo, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Love reviews. Love them sooooo much.**

**I forgot to mention in the first author notes that this story is coming into the time frame of IPS during season 4, but before Second Crime Around. There shouldn't be any spoilers however. **

**Okay, on to the chapter! Enjoy!**

**0-0-0-0**

She didn't remember the Christmas depicted in the photo. Flipping the picture over she glanced at the date. She had been two, about to turn three. Mary turned it back over and stared for a few moments.

Her father's arm was cradling her, a smile turning the corners of his lips. Jinx must have been the one with the camera.

Mary saw her childhood flash before her eyes as she thumbed through the snapshots. Her fingers stilled suddenly.

Blond hair flying behind her, a six year old Mary pedaled furiously on her yard sale big wheel. For once, she was alone in the photograph. They were moving for Christmas, Jinx had said, so they gave her the secondhand vehicle early.

The tiniest fraction of a smile tugged at Mary's lips. For once, she hadn't minded being surprised. She loved that Big Wheel. It allowed her the illusion of freedom. A way to move; to run when things seemed bad. Even at the tender age of six, she knew that things were bad. Her mother's reliance on alcohol; the long, drawn out fights that cropped up after some of her father's 'business trips'.

This picture was taken the day they moved into their new house. Christmas Eve. For once, everything had seemed to be going well. Her mother and father didn't fight even once, throughout the whole day, and she had played with her present until her legs were too tired to push the pedals another inch.

Another photo of the same day. Jinx stood with Brandi in her arms, hair falling over her face as she leaned forward to kiss her eldest daughter on the forehead. The memory of the moment was so real. She could almost feel the brush of her mother's lips. Smell her perfume. What made the moment so sweet was that there was no lingering bitterness of alcohol beneath the flowery scent. Jinx hadn't had a drink all day.

It was like a game of 'let's pretend'. Jinx and James both going through the motions, but for once playing their parts so well that Mary never suspected their lines were rehearsed. She had felt hope that day. A child's unguarded joy in the peace of her household. Even Brandi had seemed to sense the absence of tension and had cooed and laughed.

That night, her father slipped out the back door with her. Carrying her on his shoulders, James walked their new neighborhood with his daughter. From her perch, the young girl oohed and aahed over the lights that bedecked the modest houses. She would remember it for years to come as one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

0-0-0-0

Returning to their new house, James set her down, but the pair didn't go inside just yet. The lights were starting to go out. People pulled their plugs as they went to bed.

_What are we waiting for, Daddy?_ Her toes were cold, and her fingers were chilled.

James put a finger to his lips and winked. _You'll see in a few more minutes. It has to get a little bit darker first._

Shrugging, the girl huddled close to her father's warm side. Her breath was frosting in clouds in front of her nose. With a giggle, she put her fingers to her lips and pretended to blow cigarette smoke, like a fancy Hollywood star.

James chuckled. She could feel the vibration through his coat.

A few more houses went dim.

_Look, sweetheart._

Turning her head up, she gasped in wonder. The night sky was bright and spiky with frozen stars. Thousands of them. The young girl held her breath, not wanting even her pretend smoke to mar her view.

James was chuckling again. _Breathe, Mary. Remember to breathe!_

Her frozen toes and fingers were forgotten for the moment. Mary tilted her head to the side; scrutinizing the distant pricks of light. _Where are the constipations?_

Mary's father laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. His laughter wasn't mocking; wasn't taunting. She loved his laugh. She was glad that she had been able to make him laugh so hard, even though she had no idea why.

_Constellations._ He finally managed to gasp. _They're called constellations, baby. _ He shrugged helplessly. _And I'm afraid that when it comes to finding them, I don't have a clue._

The little girl felt her features falling a little. _But they're supposed to be magic_. Years later she would realize that she had mixed up folk tales, and that any old star would serve for her purposes. At the time, she wanted to make a wish on the pictures in the sky. She wanted to wish for the peace of the household to last.

James must have caught the crestfallen look on his daughter's face. He knelt in front of her quickly. _Hey, we don't __**need**__ magic._ His large hands cupped her face so that he could smile into her eyes. _Just so long as we have each other._

0-0-0-0

Mary looked up from the picture with a jolt. The old pain of her father's absence still had the power to stab, even after thirty years. The blond marshal closed her eyes against the sting. Her father's words twisted inside her head; haunting her.

Just so long as we have each other.

They hadn't had each other for very long after that. Less than two months into the new year, James left. For weeks, she nearly drove herself crazy with the belief that his leaving was her fault. She hadn't found the star to wish on, and he had disappeared. Jinx tried to reassure her, telling her that she was her father's girl, and that their bond would last forever.

Mary let her breath out. The pain of unreleased grief made her want to howl. She knew now that Jinx had just been trying to make her feel better. Her mother had no way of knowing that the words she spoke were true. Mary _was_ her father's special girl. She had found his letter shortly after that.

The photographs in her lap bent slightly as the inspector unconsciously tightened her grip. There were no pictures of the next Christmas. She had tried to answer the command of her father's words and take care of her mother and sister. What decorations they had were put up by her tiny hands. She even tried to make cookies, which necessitated the involvement of the fire department when the kitchen curtains went up in flames.

Now that she thought back on it, she was pretty sure that the cookies would have been indigestible even if they hadn't burned into crispy crunches. They had been out of sugar and she had substituted salt.

She remembered the scandalized looks the firemen had turned on her mother as they left. Drunk and belligerent, Jinx neither thanked them for their work nor took responsibility for allowing her seven year old free reign in the kitchen.

What hurt the most was the derogatory remarks one of the firemen made about the decorations on the way out. He obviously assumed that Jinx had been the one to set them in place and had no idea that his words struck the frightened little girl like a slap to the face.

She had cried herself to sleep that night, choking on the bitter pain of her father's absence and the redolent aroma of flambéed cookies.

Mary opened her eyes and stared down at the now wrinkled photographs. As bad as that Christmas was, it wasn't the worst.

Her fingers sifted through the pile. She kind of hoped that Jinx _hadn't_ kept pictures from that day...

Yeah, no such luck.

The inspector pulled a photo from the pile and shook her head, unconsciously comparing the image to her earlier pictures. The wide smile was gone. Face had thinned from the plump cheeks of childhood, but still retained a soft curve. Her body was definitely no longer that of a little girl. Some adolescent awkwardness still lingered in the long limbs, but she had the look of a young woman who was rapidly acquiring the attention of men.

Jinx and an eleven year old Brandi stood in front of a repulsively decorated tree with the teenage Mary in between them. The teen's face was just shy of scowling; settling into a mask that would have been envied by boot camp cadets.

Mary shuddered. Lord, what an awful day that had been. It didn't show in the photograph, but her mother's bright smile had almost everything to do with the empty bottle of whiskey Mary had pried from her fingers. As soon as the flash had gone off, the smiles had disappeared. Brandi had withdrawn to a distant corner of the room, her thin arms clutched around a tan colored bear.

0-0-0-0

The teenager turned towards her mother, green eyes glaring though her facial features were calm. _Can I go now?_

_Don' be silly,_ Jinx slurred as she stumbled over her heels. _Christmas is family time._ A toss of her dark hair was probably supposed to look dramatic, but only managed pathetic as the change in balance nearly upset her. Her eyes glittered with the venom that alcohol brought to the surface at times. _And I know that all the family isn' here...but your father made the decision to abandon us. He has to live with...we don' need 'im. _

Pressure was building. Green eyes were snapping. _Don't talk about him_. The words were cold and harsh.

_He's my husband, and I'll talk about him any damn way I please! _Jinx's words were snarled and slurred all at the same time as she stumbled against the couch. _It's not like we need him, y'know. I'm doin' just fine raising my girls._

Something snapped. A heartstring that had been drawn too tightly. The teenager's face transformed from scowl to a smile.

It wasn't a nice smile. Cutting. Cruel.

_Yeah, you're right, mom. You're doing a bang up job. What with holding down employment, buying the groceries, helping Brandi with her homework while trying to keep up with your own..._

Jinx suddenly went still, her eyes narrowing. Mary, however, was far from finished.

_Oh, and don't forget driving out in the middle of the night to collect your drunken mother from the nearest bar. Your life is awesome! Wonderful role model!_ Mary slapped the heel of her hand to her forehead, as though she had just remembered something. _Silly me...that's not __**you**__ that does all that, is it?_ Her voice became cold. _No, that would be me. I always get us mixed up. I mean, gosh, stable and reliable compared to puking over the edge of the bed...who wouldn't confuse the two?_ Something was changing. The teenager found that disguising her hurt; burying her pain beneath her razor sharp tongue made the agony...less. By pretending she didn't feel it, she could ignore the throbbing heartache. Loosing the reigns on her tongue gave her a vent.

Hurting someone else with her words made _her_ misery more bearable. _Don't think that I'm not sick of it either! Do you think I like going to a bar that I'm not even allowed into so I can haul your sorry ass back home? Do you think I like not having any friends, because I don't want to take the chance that they'll come over and all I'll have to offer them are half-ass sandwiches? _The seventeen year old dug both hands through her hair. She could feel the burn of tears clogging her throat. _I want it to stop, mom! This is ridiculous! I don't want to be the parent for my parent!_

_I'm your mother. So you had to come and get me once..._

_Five times,_ Mary snapped.

_Or a few more,_ Jinx huffed. _Wha's the big deal? Like you had anythin' else to do!_

_At two in the morning? How about sleep? So I don't fail my classes? _She was trembling with rage. _Geez, mom...when are you going to grow up and stop making me take care of you?_

Jinx snorted and began weaving her unsteady way back to her bedroom. _I don' have to stand here and be insulted by you!_

_Quite frankly I'm amazed you're standing at all. It's a very unusual position for you. Crouched over a toilet or sprawled across the floor is much more in keeping with your style. That or on your back under whichever guy bought you the most booze._

Jinx glared at her daughter through red rimmed eyes. She pointed an unsteady finger at the belligerent teenager like a javelin. _What makes you so great, oh high and mighty Mary? You think there's a thing you do that I don' __**let**__ you? Guess what! You're a minor. This is my house. You do what I tell you! Or..._

_Or what, mom? I die? Trust me, _Mary's fists balled up at her sides, but she kept her smile in place. _If my options were limited to staying here for the rest of my life or sudden and painful termination, I would leap at the chance of the sweet release of death._

Jinx's mouth moved, opening and closing like a fish. Tears glimmered in her eyes, and the young girl felt a twinge of conscience. She had made her mother cry...she had hurt her...

Green eyes grew cold. Mary remembered the cricket from Disney's Pinocchio. Jeremy? Jippy? Jiminy! That was it. The little bug assigned to be the wooden boy's conscience.

She imagined him as _her_ conscience; little top hat, cane, the whole megillah.

She deliberately crunched him under her heel; grinding him into the worn tread of the duplex's carpet. Jinx did not deserve sympathy.

With a theatrical sob, her mother spun on her heel and staggered to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

The teenage girl was surprised to find that she was breathing hard, like she had just run a marathon. She had done it. She had found the key. Unleashing her sarcastic tongue on Jinx had acted like a pressure valve.

Soft, stifled sobs reached her ears.

Shocked, the seventeen year old turned and realized to her horror that Brandi was still there. The eleven year old was curled into a tight ball in the farthest corner of the couch. Her face was buried in Biscuit's soft, plush back, but Mary could still her her weeping.

_Squish_, her voice was broken. She set on the edge of the battered sofa and reached for her sister. _I'm sorry, Squish. I really am. I...shouldn't have said that. _**While you were still in the room. **Her thoughts continued where she left off.

_Come on,_ the older sister pulled Brandi into her embrace, gently stroking white blond hair. Thin arms wove their way around Mary's torso and Brandi clung to her.

Mary swallowed hard, looking down at the top of her younger sister's head. So she had railed at her mother. So what? Nothing had changed. She was still going to be taking care of her mother and sister whenever Jinx woke from her alcohol stupor. In fact, she would probably be playing the parent this very night...cleaning up after Jinx missed the toilet with projectile vomit.

The sound of retching from down the hall made her close her eyes and grind her teeth, wishing to God that she wasn't so accurate in her speculations.

Trapped. That's how she felt.

Brandi eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, her head pillowed on Mary's lap. The seventeen year old wanted to scream, even as she stroked her sister's head soothingly.

Scream, and scream and scream. Release even more of the pressure that had built up in her life. Break free. Get away. Run and never look back.

**Take care of your mother and your precious baby sister. **The words were printed indelibly on her mind, haunting her. She _had_ taken care of them. Both of them. As long as she could. She needed to break away, or she would go mad. How? She was, as Jinx had pointed out, still technically a minor.

A soft knock at the door was followed by the soft creak of the hinges.

Mark poked his head into the living room, a goofy smile spread across his face. A hopeful smile. Expectant.

He was a big kid, she knew. He was looking for a good time. But he listened when she talked. He comforted her when she complained about Jinx.

He called her pretty.

The idea came to her with sickening clarity. A way out. Trapped...but _less_ trapped. And it could be worse. A lot worse. Brandi shifted her weight on Mary's leg and the teenager winced. For an eleven year old, she cut off a lot of blood circulation.

_Jinx already out_? He asked softly, voice low out of deference for Brandi.

_Yeah. She got trashed early tonight. It's a holiday after all._ She took a deep breath. If she was going to do this, she needed to get the words out quick.

Mark leaned over the back of the couch and kissed her cheek. _Soooo..._

He was going to ask her if she had made her decision. And she had. Just now. _Yes._

Mark's eyes lit up. _Yes?_

_That's what I said, dumbass._ Her tone was affectionate, but it was an effort. **Get me out of here.** Mary smiled up at him. _Yes, I will marry you. _

**Get me out.**

0-0-0-0

The blonde marshal drew in her breath sharply, almost a gasp. Holy Mother, this stupid holiday was really playing a number on her, and she was dancing to all the tunes. Like a trained organ monkey. Dance, monkey dance.

She was not a monkey, and she refused to allow her emotions to be manipulated by the cliché spouting hallmark zombie masses.

Think of something happy. Blond eyebrows drew together fiercely as she raked her memories for something...anything...

The pictures in her hands were becoming crumpled. With snort, she half threw them down onto her lap. There wouldn't be any happy memories to be sparked in those.

Last Christmas. She had been happy last Christmas.

There was a picture of the night floating around somewhere, but she didn't have a copy.

The day had been much like this one. Witnesses fleeing Albuquerque like rats deserting the Titanic. Fights, breaches and a day filled with ranting as she grew increasingly sick of the human race.

But that night...

She, Marshall and Stan had relaxed for a few minutes in the empty office. Stan hadn't stayed that long. He cited a need to sleep and old age being a good reason for turning in, earning him several well-placed (if amiable) insults regarding age, dress, and loss of hair.

That had left her and Marshall.

They had talked some, drank some, talked some more. He regaled her with tales concerning his prowess at internet chess, to which she replied with a confident assertion that the odds of him snagging a date decreased with every word that came from his mouth.

Marshall chuckled. _So if I remained silent..._

_Sexiest man in New Mexico,_ Mary said with a straight face. She let him preen over that for a moment before continuing. _However, since it appears to be a physical incapability for you to speak in sentences less than forty words and use words under six syllables I'm pretty sure that you're doomed to a lifetime of celibacy, and lonely nights cradling a light beer._

An eyebrow raised itself up his forehead. _Tough talk for a woman who just used a sentence consisting of forty three..._

_Please tell me that you didn't count._

Silence. Mary shook her head pityingly. _You did, didn't you?_

More silence. Marshall was too honest to say 'no' out right.

_Aaaaaaaaaaannnnd the statistics take another dive._

A wadded up ball of paper flew through the air to hit her in the forehead. _Shut up._

She grinned unrepentantly. _Hey don't worry. Sure, the women will run screaming from your scintillating tales of bishops, pawns and queens run wild..._

Another wad of paper. She dodged it. _Tales that should by all rights be outlawed by the Geneva convention..._

A couple this time. One skimmed the top of her head, the other bounced off her nose. Mary ducked behind her computer for cover. _But hey! The guys will be all over you! _

She poked her laughing face out from behind her computer just in time to see her partner calmly stride towards her desk with a box in his hands. A box that looked suspiciously like the collecting bin for the shredders...

She tried to get out of the way, but he was just too quick. In a split second he had crossed the area between their desks and tipped the box over her head, sending shredded paper cascading over her hair and into her lap. She was pretty sure some even went down her shirt.

She scowled upwards into his face. That _grin_ was plastered all over his face, stretching from ear to ear. _There you go. All decorated for Christmas with your very own WitSec brand of tinsel._

One eyebrow crawled up her forehead. _Shredded office files?_

_If I had thought about it beforehand, I would've put some red and green construction paper through. You have to admit though, opt out cards, credit card checks and cellular phone records suit you much better._

_Yeah, they really bring out the angry in my eyes, numbnuts._

Chuckling, Marshall stepped back. Mary looked down, concentrating on removing the enormous amount of shredded paper from her person when a 'click' and a flash brought her head snapping back up.

Stan stood in the gateway, a camera held up and quickly snapping another picture. (Later Mary would realize that Marshall had stepped behind her and was giving her bunny ears)

Their boss smiled sweetly at her shocked expression as he tucked the camera into his inner jacket pocket. _And here I thought coming back to the office for forgotten paperwork was going to be a waste of time and gas. Learn something new every day._

He retreated as quickly as he had come, leaving Mary staring after him in horror and Marshall nearly incapacitated with silent laughter.

She shot her most evil glare at her lanky partner as he leaned helplessly against her desk, bent double and shaking with ill-suppressed mirth. _It's not funny._

A strangled, wheezing sound was the only response she received.

_Marshall, I'm serious. _

He looked up then, and she couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped at the sight of his red face and teared up eyes. She tried to school her features back into their mask of disapproval, but couldn't. A smile was breaking through her resolve to be bitter and hate humanity. She would hate everybody else.

She couldn't hate him.

Hours later, the two inspectors finally left the office. Mary felt tired, but oddly refreshed. Like her spirit was softened.

Cold air whipped at her cheeks and nose, bringing a flush to her face. The blonde marshal raised her head as she strode towards her car, her partner by her side. The stars were brighter than normal. Not as clear as they would be out in the middle of the desert, but a hell of a lot more visible than they were in Jersey.

Something about this was oddly familiar. The late night and cold air...breath misting from her nose and mouth, obscuring the stars for a moment.

The warm presence of someone she trusted and lo...

Respected. Someone who's friendship meant the world to her.

_So,_ Marshall gallantly opened her car door for her. _Same time next year?_

_Of course,_ she chuckled as she lowered herself into the decrepit body of her Probe. _By that time I'll probably be the only woman who'll come within a mile of you._

She reached for her keys and suddenly realized that the door was still open. Mary looked up to see her partner outlined against the starry sky. She couldn't see his face with the light shining behind his head...

But she had the distinct impression that he wanted to say something important to her. _Marshall_?

He sighed, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. _Merry Christmas, Mary. _His voice was soft. Almost tender.

The blonde marshal opened her mouth to respond in her characteristic volley of scathing wit. It wouldn't come out. _Merry Christmas, Marshall_. She was almost shocked to hear those words come out of her own mouth seriously. Pleasantly.

She watched him walk to his own car and suddenly realized that she was looking forward to next Christmas.

Because she would get to spend it with him.

0-0-0-0

Except she wouldn't.

There was another woman who was more than willing to come within a mile of Marshall, and he had gone to be with her.

Mary froze in her position on her bedroom floor. Pain that she hadn't allowed herself to feel for years was suddenly stabbing her heart.

In turn, her learned response to pain reared its head. Anger. Lots of it. Suddenly she was stuffing the letters and photos back into the nearest box violently. The pictures bent and tore, but she was almost out of control. She wanted the memories out of sight, and out of mind. She wanted the haunting pain to be exorcised, along _with_ the memories.

Damn him! Damn him! _Damn him_!

Snatching the lid from the floor she slammed it down, covering the contents of the box.

And she was pushing down; pushing down...the muscles in her shoulders and arms straining as if she could rebury the memories underneath her protective layers with brute force.

The sides of the box buckled and bent under her grip and she still pressed down. She pressed down on it with all her strength, but could not hide the pain that streamed from those pictured memories, like an unbroken flood over the ground.

0-0-0-0

**Okee dokee, next chapter should be up within a week, hopefully sooner. Reviews always make me write faster...;)**


	3. The Soulmate of the Fiery Spirit

**Hello all. I am posting on time! Yay for me! Now, brief message of warning...I am an angst writer. I don't remember if I stated that clearly before. I love angst. All forms. Emotional is my favorite. Therefore, believe me when I say that this fic will get sad...and then more sad. Fair warning. However, I do fix what I break. :) Enjoy the next chapter!**

**0-0-0-0**

She didn't know how long she sat there. Reality seeped back into her mind with the trembling of her shoulders and the numbness of her feet as they slipped into deep sleep.

Cursing, Mary shoved the somewhat mangled box away and pushed herself up. She promptly stumbled on unfeeling toes. Staggering to her bed, she ground her teeth together as pins and needles danced through her veins with the return of blood.

_And the day just keeps getting better and better. _When her feet stopped their excruciating wake-up, the inspector rose and snagged her beer bottle from the dresser. Green eyes glared at the dark brown glass bitterly. _Sometimes, this just doesn't cut it. Should've grabbed the whole bottle of Tequila._

Nothing like a trip down Drunken Lane to forget your troubles. Only problem was that Drunken Lane merged into Dumbass Boulevard pretty damn quick, and it was easy to miss the turn off.

Besides; drinking to avoid pain was Jinx's schtick. Well, _had been_ Jinx's shtick. Thirty plus years of watching that train wreck had instilled a deep and powerful motivation to never seek after alcohol as a means to forget the pain of life. Not that there weren't times when it wasn't a temptation. There had been dark moments in her life when she was almost overwhelmed with the need to block reality out. Only once had the urge been too desperate to ignore.

The night she had come home after spending hours chained to a post. Seeing a man killed in front of her eyes. Watching bullets from her own gun shred through flesh and take a life. Faced with reality at that point, she had found it too much. She remembered running from her room, Jinx trailing after her.

If she could have, she would've used the alcohol to block out that whole, God forsaken day.

She ended up vomiting what little she had ingested seconds later.

Mary glared at the bent box where it rested on the floor. It had taken the threat, observation and deliverance of death combined with the sickening moment of near rape to make her seek oblivion before.

She would be damned if she was driven there again by a box of disappointments and some prescription grade abandonment issues.

The marshal stalked across the room and kicked the box into the deepest corner of her closet. All of a sudden she wanted to be...out. Out of her house. It was too empty and too full at the same time. Empty of people, but filled with the memories that had spilled past her defenses. Here, where there was no one else to distract her, Mary was caught in the recesses of her own mind.

She needed space and time to reconstruct her armor.

Mary pulled her boots back on quickly. She needed to get out.

The blonde inspector exited her room, stride swift. The beer bottle was hastily deposited on the kitchen counter and keys snatched up.

She needed to get _out_.

By the time she turned towards the door, she was seconds away from breaking into a sprint.

_Out, out, out, out, out..._

The same clock she had heard before chimed twice. Mary froze and leveled her gaze on it. The clock was small and hung on the wall of her living room. She snatched her Blackberry from her hip and checked the time.

The miserable wall ornament was way off...it was barely eight. She would change it when she got back. Right now, she wanted to put some distance between herself and this house.

Her hand caught the door handle and she jerked it open.

….only to almost bulldoze into her partner as he stood on her doorstep with a fist raised in preparation to knock.

She stared, dumbfounded. "Marshall!" A warm gush of relief filled her at the sight of him. She couldn't control or explain it. He was here...he was here...he was here...wait, why was he here? "What the hell? !"

"Tidings of joy and comfort to you too." He raised his other hand, showing her the large bag he carried. "I brought food."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of code for what you're doing here?"

"Yes. It's also code for 'it's freezing.'"

Mary almost winced. She really didn't want to go back inside. The house was still too full of memories. He would notice...and ask... "Fine, fine. Come in."

"And know you better?" he stepped over the threshold with a grin teasing the corners of his mouth.

"And bring in the food, anyway," she mumbled as she stepped out of the way. Despite herself, she was curious to see what was in the bag. A delicious smell was wafting from the depths of Marshall's burden and a sudden twist of her stomach reminded Mary that she hadn't eaten anything since before noon. "What do you have in there?"

"Well, it's no sucking-pig, wreath of sausage..."

"Marshall," the warning note in Mary's voice would have stopped anyone else.

"Mince-pie, plum-pudding..."

"Marshall," Mary's teeth were clenched and his name came through them like the hiss of a snake.

"Barrel of oysters...ow! OW! Okay! I'll stop!"

With a nod of satisfaction, Mary released the elbow she had just pinched and waved him towards the kitchen.

"It _is_, however, some of your favorite ribs." Marshall set the bag down on the counter and rubbed his elbow with a pout. "After that though, I'm eating more than half."

She snorted indelicately. "Not bloody likely. Have you ever seen me eat ribs?"

"Yes. We shared a plate of them once. I believe I was in danger of losing fingers every time I reached for food at the same time as you." Marshall smiled sweetly at her as he dug plates out of her cabinet. "On the upside, I didn't have to trim my nails for a while."

Mary glared at him as she pulled silverware from a drawer. "You're an idiot."

"But an idiot with comestibles, which is why you allow me to stay."

"I could just take the bag..."

The bag in point was quickly snatched up from the counter and half hidden behind her partner's backside.

A small sliver of humor was seeping back into her with Marshall's reappearance. "You realize that your ass is not sufficiently wide to keep me away from KC Barbeque Ribs?"

Marshall's grin widened. "If you try to take it by force you'll end up destroying the pie."

"You have pie in that bag?" Mary took a step forward and Marshall quickly backed up.

"I do, but it only comes out if I get to eat too."

She had never really had any idea of throwing him out. The memories were easier to ignore now that there was someone else in the house. "Fine," she relented with a show of bad grace. "It had better be good pie."

0-0-0-0

Marshall redeposited the bag, blue eyes observing his partner. She had her back turned to him and was grabbing a couple glasses. He frowned. She had given in too easily. Something was bothering her, that much was easy to see.

She must have been completely unaware of how she looked when she opened the door, or she would be making a bigger deal of how fine she was right now. He knew his partner.

When she had opened the door, her eyes were wide; face drawn. She looked like a little girl running away from the monsters that were hiding in her closet. Marshall reached into the bag and began to pull out food, mulling over his partner's state of mind.

Her voice when she said his name...

Marshall's heart twisted sharply. She had been so relieved to see him. Why?

Unaware of his scrutiny, Mary seated herself at the island and began to make inroads on the ribs. Marshall joined her, still observing the blonde marshal closely.

There was just something...off...in the way she was moving. Her usual, confident demeanor had taken a hard hit. She didn't even seem to be aware of it. Her eyes were too wide, her smile was too forced.

Every so often she would glance back at her bedroom like she expected some horrific specter to float through the door and drain her blood from her body.

Or like it already had...and she was afraid it would be coming for her soul next.

"So really," she mumbled around a rib bone. "What _are_ you doing here? And how come you're not spending the holiday with your Jonas Brothers fan?"

"Abigail is working," Marshall said drily. "And I just _happened_ to have some barbeque in the fridge..."

"Sure."

"I also noticed that you hadn't eaten anything almost all day." _And I wanted to know what was really bothering you._ Marshall shrugged. "I would have been over here sooner, but I decided to go home and heat it up."

Mary's eyes narrowed; some of her brusque manner coming back to her. "Are you babysitting me? Hanging out because I must be lonely on a mass market production holiday?"

"My motives aren't so devious. I'm merely providing sustenance."

She glared. "I'm fine."

"I know."

"I don't need to be around people."

"I know."

"I hate humanity."

"Again...not the surprise plot twist you seem to think it is."

Mary groaned and flopped her head down onto folded arms. "I hate it when you argue like this!"

"Who's arguing?" His voice was innocent, but he had to work to keep a smile off his face. Reaching into the bag he pulled out dessert. "Pie?"

"You should know better than to argue with me," his partner's voice was muffled, her face hidden by blonde hair. "I always win."

"If by 'win' you mean 'hang onto your viewpoint with all the tenacity of a pit bull until your opponent literally screams for mercy', then yes. You always win." He cut a large portion of pecan pie, put it on a plate and pushed it toward her.

The confection offering was accepted without comment as Mary straightened and dug her fork into her slice.

Her silence unnerved him. What the hell was going on? There should have been some response to that, if only a sharp look. But there was nothing. His partner continued to fork up bites of pie and chew without a word.

His thoughts flashed back to how she had looked when she first opened the door. How it had swung inwards before his fist had made contact with the wood.

"So," he said as casually as possible. "Where were you headed when I got here?"

0-0-0-0

Mary's fingers tightened around her fork for a moment. She looked up to meet Marshall's carefully casual eyes. Oh, he wasn't fooling her for a second.

And apparently, she wasn't fooling him. A small part of her was relieved. Marshall still knew her better than anyone else.

"I don't know," she said quietly. Did her voice really sound that pathetic? "Out. Just...out." Out of this house, away from that box, somewhere, _anywhere_ but here. Her eyes darted towards her bedroom door for a moment.

A wave of self-disgust washed over her. She was acting like an idiot. Pushing away her plate, the marshal leaned elbows onto the island and dug the fingers of both hands through her hair.

"So let's go."

She turned towards her partner so quickly that she almost slipped from her stool. "What?"

Marshall was already rising, a grin starting to pull at the corners of his mouth. "Come on."

"Come on where? Marshall?"

"Patience, grasshopper."

Mary groaned as she quickly deposited her dishes into the sink. "Patience my...where are we going?"

"Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."

She stared at him.

The blue eyes were as innocent as ever. "That's what you should have said. And my response would be 'touch my robe'."

It was a sign of how badly she wanted to leave the house that Mary followed her partner even after that.

0-0-0-0

The frigid air whipped at Mary's cheeks; nipped at her nose. Her fingers were chilled and her toes were numb, but she didn't care.

She and Marshall were slowly walking the streets of Old Town, admiring the decorations.

_That night, her father slipped out the back door with her. Carrying her on his shoulders, James walked their new neighborhood with his daughter. From her perch, the young girl oohed and aahed over the lights that bedecked the modest houses. She would remember it for years to come as one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen._

Mary shivered, unconsciously drawing closer to her partner. Semi-distracted, she missed the odd look on his face as he glanced down at her. A wince, almost. A twist of old pain.

"Cold?"

When she looked up, his features were composed into a bland mask.

"No...just...just thinking." Her green eyes went to the brilliant strands of lights strung about the buildings. "The Christmas before he left...my dad and I went out to look at the lights in our neighborhood."

Marshall waited, expectantly.

"They were beautiful." She looked back up at her lanky partner and smiled. "So there's one thing about this holiday that doesn't defy the laws of physics by both sucking and blowing simultaneously."

The gangly lawman rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "Aaaaaand she's back." But he was smiling. "I do think there's a few things that are a bit more important than decorations." He motioned towards the crowds that milled about them. "For instance, observe for a few moments the people around you. _Without_," he held up his finger quickly, "your usual dalliance in...you know what."

Her mouth quirked. "I'm lost, Marshall. Speak English."

His mouth flattened. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Are you referring to...?"

"Yes."

She shrugged, raising her palms up exaggeratedly as she tilted her head to the side. "No idea what you're talking about."

"In your own words," he said between set teeth, "freak watching."

"But the only thing I like about people is making fun of them!"

Marshall rolled his eyes again and gestured towards the people that milled about them. "Watch."

"If that's wrong, I don't want to be right."

"Watch!"

Grumbling, she did as she was bid.

Jaded green eyes scanned the crowd quickly. "Okay, so what am I supposed to have seen?"

"Look again."

Mary groaned. "Marshall, why...?"

He nudged her side. "Because you're seeing what you expect to see. These aren't the people we work with, you know. Not career criminals. Just normal folk."

Normal folk. She sighed, sending a cloud billowing out in front of her face. The sight of her own frozen breath made her pause; her mind floating back to another Christmas Eve when she had walked cold streets to see beautiful lights with a man...

He had told her that they didn't need magic. As long as they had each other, they didn't need magic. Well, daddy wasn't around anymore. Maybe a little magic wouldn't be so bad. Her eyes strayed to the groups of people that were walking Old Town. What did Marshall see that he wanted her to observe?

They were smiling. Almost all of them.

Couples strode past arm in arm, and for once she didn't think of them as 'arrogant idiots'. Families grouped together for pictures in front of light-strung trees. Their arms were thrown around each other; squeezing tightly together with laughter as they fit themselves into a camera's frame.

A hunger stirred in her. Deep, yearning.

0-0-0-0

Marshall looked down at his partner in time to catch a strange expression flitting across her face.

Wistful. Hungry. Sad.

The inspector sighed softly. He didn't want her to be sad. He had wanted to help her get out of her house and see that the world was not the holiday cesspool that she believed it to be. To a certain extent, he had succeeded.

But it wasn't enough. Marshall wanted her to be happy.

An idea flickered to life. There was an actual Christmas light show that took place not far from their current location. He glanced at his watch. It should be going on for another hour.

"Hey," the lawman said with a grin and waited for his partner to look up questioningly. " If you like lights, I know something you need to see."

0-0-0-0

He had done it again. Mary couldn't help but smile. What was it about her partner? Marshall always knew what was perfect. To say...or to do.

Her green eyes took in the light show with all the wonder of a child; admiring the glittering showmanship.

The bright bulbs extended down each side of a path that followed a closed circuit. Sometimes they arched over the walkway. Flashing frames of multicolored lights lit the darkness.

She loved it.

So maybe Christmas wasn't the despairing pig wallow that she had thought it to be. The blonde marshal opened her mouth to say as much when her attention was caught by a small group ahead of them.

She wasn't prepared to see those three, and when her gaze fell on them, the accompanying stab of pain took her off guard.

0-0-0-0

Marshall was in the middle of congratulating himself. Almost literally patting himself on the back. He loved the look of pleasure on Mary's face. Unguarded, open enjoyment. He almost _never _saw that expression.

It was beautiful.

Marshall looked away quickly. The old pain was still there, like a half-healed scab catching on rough cloth. He had Abigail now. Mary did not think of him like that. Keeping reality in focus was difficult sometimes, particularly when all he wanted to do was see his partner's real smile light up her face. Not the sarcastic, sharp, biting and bitter smile. The one that was there when she let her guard drop for a few seconds. Like now.

Marshall glanced back at her. To his surprise, the smile had fled. Her expression was...

Lonely. That was the best way he could think to describe it.

He followed her line of sight down the path a fair ways ahead.

Jinx, Brandi and Peter stood grouped together beside a decorated arch. He could see their smiles from where he stood. The obvious affection as Peter put an arm around Brandi's shoulders and squeezed her closer to his side. Jinx was already pulling out a camera to take a picture of them.

A surge of hot, protective anger rose quickly. They were short one member of their party, but they seemed perfectly at ease with the loss. Marshall looked down at his partner.

The hungry expression had already fled from her mobile face, swiftly hidden under a smile. "They invited me," she said in response to his unasked question. "I told them that I would be busy."

The anger retreated. He nodded, aching for his pretty partner. Marshall kept his own facial features carefully schooled. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that Mary did not respond well to what she perceived as pity. The lanky lawman bit his tongue, even though he longed to offer any number of comforting words. They wouldn't do any good.

She so rarely accepted help in any form. Most of the time, like tonight, he had to force her hand. Bulldoze forward and act for her benefit whether she liked it or not. Hide his care for her in obnoxious smiles and teasing so that even when she took his aid, she got the chance to hit him.

He tilted his head and gestured back towards the car. "Come on."

0-0-0-0

The ride back towards Mary's house was not particularly chatter filled, but the silence the partners slipped into was not entirely uncomfortable either.

Marshall kept darting glances at the blonde out of the corner of his eye as he carefully navigated the roads. She was leaning against the passenger side window, green eyes thoughtful.

Maybe observing the lights they drove past.

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" her voice broke the stillness of the car gently.

"Going out to my parents' house," Marshall answered, turning around the corner. "Mom will no doubt have concocted a veritable mountain of food, which she will expect me to consume at least half of."

He caught the corner of her lips turning up.

"Then dad and I will no doubt become engaged once more in the thrilling debate of the best way to brine poultry..."

Marshall caught the flash of teeth as Mary grinned.

"My brothers will become in involved...it could become bloody." Pulling his SUV into her driveway, Marshall put the vehicle in park.

"Yeah, well just make sure you're able to get back to work. If I had to be partnered with Delia because you were in the hospital ugly things would happen. To her." Mary swung her door open and climbed out.

Marshall also exited. "Well, I'm sure it will calm down before everyone gets too riled up. Mom will bring up her newest foray into the world of yarn based projects. I just hope she tells us what it is this time so no one has to guess."

Mary shot him an odd look as they approached her door. "Guess?"

"It can be surprisingly difficult," he said darkly.

"Which would explain why you appeared to be wearing green and red striped mittens for socks the other day."

The gangly inspector winced. He had hoped that no one had seen him changing those out...

Mary was pulling her keys out of her pocket, her back towards him. "Does it take long to get there?"

"It does," he grumbled. "and I have to get up even earlier so I can pick up Abigail."

Was it his imagination, or did her back stiffen at his words? "Oh?" Her words suddenly had a forced layer of ease over bitter depths of acid. "Are you sure about that? I mean, won't you put everyone off their food?"

"Pardon?" he was genuinely confused.

She turned, and he felt a mild shock.

Mary was smiling. Brightly. Marshall felt his heart sink into his toes. He _hated_ that smile...

"With all the lovey dovey cooing and snuggling and affectionate pet names that should make any grown man wish fervently to choke on his own vomit?"

Marshall stared at her for a moment. Too far. She had gone too far. "You're a mean one, Mrs. Grinch." The words were said lightly, but his expression was not cheerful.

Mary's smile flickered for a moment. "Marshall..."

"Have a good night." Turning, he started to walk back towards his SUV.

"Marshall!"

The lanky lawman looked back over his shoulder. "Yes? Any other comments, critiques, or criticisms you have to offer on my relationship?"

"I...no." she looked lost again. Mary's mouth moved, like she was trying to think of the words to say, but couldn't. "Just...have a good trip, I guess."

"Will do." He turned forward once more and continued to his car. The silence behind him was deafening.

The inspector climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the car door. His keys were jammed into the ignition, but he didn't turn them for the moment.

The heel of his hand pounded the wheel. "Damn it," he whispered.

Blue eyes traveled to Mary's door. It was closed. She was nowhere to be seen. Marshall leaned back against his seat, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. All he had wanted was to make her happy. Drive away some of the demons of her past that clung to her.

The two children who hid beneath the robe of the Ghost of Christmas Present. What were their names? Ignorance, the boy. And Want, the girl. They belonged to all men. In some ways, Mary was correct. The con game of the holiday that pretended everything was wonderful, cheerful and happy, all the while concealing ignorance and want beneath a voluminous robe. Hide them, and they didn't really exist, did they? He had _wanted_ to make her happy. Unfortunately, he had pursued his goal in ignorance. He didn't know everything that lurked in her past, following her, and he didn't know how to help.

Marshall sighed and turned the keys.

He was always trying to help his partner. Always. She was the center of his world.

Or...she had been. He had made the choice to seek another force to gravitate towards. The lawman glanced once more at the house. What he wanted did not matter. What he had chosen was before him.

Putting the car in reverse, he pulled away.

He felt old. Old, and withered, and...sad.

0-0-0-0

Inside her house, Mary braced herself against her front door and leaned her head back against the wood.

Marshall's car started.

She closed her eyes.

The rumble of his SUV faded into the distance. He was gone.

0-0-0-0

**There you are! Hope you all enjoy! I love reviews always and forever. :) Oh, and if anyone else squealed like a little obsessed fan girl when Marshall threw himself over Mary instead of Abby in the finale...feel free to join me in a hateful giggle at Abby's expense. :)**


	4. The Lachrymator of the Lamenting Spirit

**Greetings, all! Thank you one and all for your lovely reviews. I must say, this is the first time that the author notes got more of a reaction than the chapter itself...;) **

**I apologize for the lateness of my posting. My excuses are...not good. I was lazy, mostly. My wonderful beta also had a very busy week, however. Her husband reached a milestone birthday (30), and then she suffered the loss of a beloved pet, which she has had for over 16 years. My poor sibling beta. :( And so I thank you all for your patience, and I hope that you enjoy the continuation of my tale. **

**0-0-0-0 **

Why did she always do that? Why did she push away those she cared about the most?

Years of defensive habits. God knew that she had pushed Raph away every time the poor bastard tried to draw closer. Her mother...her sister...all of her co-workers through time immemorial...

Only Marshall had always ignored her attempts to separate herself. He was the only one who knew her, really.

Now she had managed to give him a boot in the ass too. And after he had come over and been all nice. He had brought her ribs and pie, because he knew she would be hungry and lonely. Taken her out of her house when she said that she didn't want to be here.

She had repaid the favor by stabbing a verbal blade into his exposed back.

Why did she always _do_ that?

Mary's knees buckled and she slid to the floor. Drawing her legs up close to her chest, the blonde marshal wrapped her arms around them and lowered her head until the world around her was hidden by curtains of her hair.

His words had shocked her. Telling her that he would be bringing Abigail to his parents house. For a while, Mary had been able to forget that Abby was there. The marshal had slipped back to a time before the Albuquerque detective had come onto the scene. Marshall standing by her side, forcing her to see the good in others and making her smile. For a few moments, it seemed like everything was back to the way it had been.

Before Abby.

Before Faber.

Before Marshall told her that she needed someone who would make her think...and she fled like a coward before his words could sink in.

She had been able to forget all of that for a short time, and his casual mention of Abby was like a slap in the face of a dreamer. Waking up hurt, she lashed out with deadly accuracy.

Mary pressed her forehead against her knees, biting her lip. What must he be thinking?

Suddenly she straightened, a scowl drawing her eyebrows together. She didn't want to know. This was pathetic. With a grunt, the marshal pushed herself up off the floor. What was with her tonight?

There was still most of a pecan pie sitting on the kitchen island, and Mary made for it, digging a fork out of a drawer as she went. Without bothering to put a portion on a plate, she began forking up bites.

Stupid Christmas.

Green eyes darted toward her bedroom door; fierce and glaring. Stupid photos.

Another mouthful of crust was swallowed, but the whole confection was leaving a bitter aftertaste. _He_ had brought her pie, and she had hurt him.

The fork slammed down onto the counter top with enough force to bend it. Stupid partner! To her horror, Mary realized that she was near tears. One hand dragged through her hair. What must he think of her? A wave of grief rose so quickly she was almost drowned in it.

Years of defensive habits kicked into high gear, and the grief was blocked by the thick ballast of anger.

She didn't _want_ to know what Marshall was thinking. Down that path lay madness. Madness and a plethora of obscure trivia. With a vicious spasm, her fork flew across the room to clatter on the floor. What was his problem anyway? It wasn't like she hadn't been sarcastic about Abigail before. She had. Numerous times. Almost every chance she got, as a matter of fact. Why did he have to take umbrage with it _now_? Right when this God-forsaken holiday was screwing with her.

And why was she thinking words like _umbrage_? ! Further proof that trying to poke into the malodorous morass of Marshall's musings was moronic and misguided. _And now I've delved into the repugnant practice of alliteration. Damn him! I'm not sorry anymore._

Except she was.

"I'm not sorry," she said out loud, addressing the empty house.

Silence was her only answer. Amazing how much reproach a silent, empty house could convey.

"I'm _not_!"

Not surprisingly, the house still made no audible reply. Mary swore under her breath and turned on her heel. Screw this. She would go to the office. If there wasn't real work to do she would make some.

As she stalked through the living room, the clock on the wall began to chime.

_What the hell? !_

Both hands were pointing up. The clock was striking midnight.

_**How **__the hell? !_

Third chime.

She glared, green eyes feral.

Fourth.

Something with that clock was bothering her on a deep level. Like it was the stick being pushed through the bars to prod an injured, captive animal.

Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.

An exotic animal.

Eighth. Ninth.

The biggest problem with tormenting a captive, feral creature was that they could only take so much before snapping and ripping the limbs off of their captors.

Tenth.

Two strides carried her across the room.

Eleventh.

With a savage jerk, Mary ripped the clock from the wall. The wall ornament gurgled into silence mid-way through the twelfth chime as she yanked the batteries. She returned to the kitchen long enough to hurl the clock into the trash before her feet carried her out the door and into her car.

0-0-0-0

Mary jerked to a stop, her car parked haphazardly. If someone wanted to complain they were welcome to, but since the parking garage was deserted, she assumed that there was no one here other than herself.

The inspector pushed herself out of the car and headed for the stairs. Normally she took the elevator, but she was feeling the need to burn a little steam. Her boot heels clicked loudly in the still, cold air.

The stairwell made her shoes echo even more loudly. Sound waves bounced from wall to wall, until it almost seemed like there was another person walking beside her. Odd how she never noticed that before. Probably because there normally _was_ another person at her side. A tall man whose ridiculous cowboy boots created their own echos. Her partner. Her best friend. Her best friend whom she had so cheerfully bitch slapped with unkind words...

Guilt rose in her mind like a specter, his cold, clammy hand resting on her shoulder. She could almost see him lurking there; an under-budget, re-done Christmas Carol stunt double for the last Ghost.

She hated the Christmas Carol almost as much as she hated Olsen twin specials.

So many remakes of the same tired story. Man screws up life, supernatural encounter beats him over the head with his own stupidity and threat of eternal condemnation, man miraculously changes. All in one night. Sure. Right.

Tell me another, Pinocchio. In her job, Mary had seen people try desperately to change, and she had seen more people try desperately to stay the same. One thing had become very clear to her over the years. If a person changed at all, it _never_ happened over night. Serious changes took days, weeks, months and years. Look at her own family! How long had it taken _them _ to get their act together?

Look at her.

She was still pushing people away as hard as she could, with little regard to their feelings.

Marshall's face swam to the surface of her mind. She had hurt him.

With a groan, the inspector leaned against the stair railing for a moment and buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to think about this. In fact, she had left her house for the express purpose of _not_ thinking about this.

Guilt squeezed his bony fingers a little tighter.

Mary ground her teeth together. This was ridiculous. Straightening up, she gave her specter of guilt a mental push; delighting in the image of him doing somersaults down the stairs, robe flapping miserably as his bony arms pinwheeled in a desperate attempt to catch himself.

It was hard to take a specter seriously when you imagined them careening head over heels down a flight of steps.

With a new spring in her step, the blonde marshal continued on her way.

0-0-0-0

Her card slid through the reader with practiced ease. It was a movement more natural to her than pulling her keys out to unlock her house. What did _that_ say about the quality of her life?

The office was just as she had left it that evening. The bright decorations hanging off of every conceivable surface, twinkling obnoxiously, and shedding plastic tinsel into the coffee pot.

The full coffee pot.

Mary frowned. It had been empty when she and Marshall had headed towards the door, she was positive. After all, she had taken the last cup and set it back without making any more. But now the coffee pot was not only full, but freshly made.

Her green eyes flicked to the side.

The blinds in Stan's officer were closed, but she could see a light.

What was he doing here so late? Not that she had any right to ask, but she could be curious. If he didn't want her to know, he would calmly tell her that it was none of her damn business. That didn't mean that she would quit pushing, but at least then she'd _know _that there was something that he didn't want her to know.

Mary decided to leave it for now. Talking to Stan would only guarantee that he would make her go home and spend time with her family. He was probably working on something very important anyway. Why else would he be here at this hour on Christmas Eve?

Even as she made her decision and began to step towards her desk, Stan's office door swung open, and the Chief Inspector emerged. He stopped in his doorway, brown eyes surprised. "Mary? I thought you went home hours ago."

"Right back at ya." She cocked her head to one side suspiciously. The best defense was a good offense. If she could get him explaining why _he_ was here, there was a chance that he would forget to tell her to leave.

Stan shrugged. "I had some paperwork leftover. Thought I'd get a jump on it." he moved to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, deftly plucking out gold and silver strands of tinsel. Glancing over his shoulder, he fixed his inspector with a stern eye. "What are _you _doing here?"

So much for that hope.

Mary shrugged. "Same." She moved to join her boss and snagged a mug from the shelf above the coffee pot. Hopefully he would leave it at that and not delve further...

Stan pour a stream of hot, black brew into her extended mug even as he fixed her with a patient, half smile. "Your family?" She hated that half smile. It looked pleasant and friendly, but what it really meant was 'bow to my will.'

"Happily enjoying the light show downtown." She ignored the pang of loneliness that stung her as she recalled their happy faces. They were fine without her. Really. Didn't even miss her.

If anything, his placid smile widened ever so slightly. "And why aren't you with them?"

"Because despite the leaps in science, it is still physically impossible for one person to be in two places at once." She smiled. "I'd say I'm with them in spirit, but I'm pretty sure that I don't actually have a soul. I traded it for pie."

"So, Marshall has it?"

She shrugged. "It was a good pie."

"Mary..."

The blonde marshal ignored him as she focused on pulling tinsel from the scalding coffee. Damn Delia and her stupid decorations. Green eyes glared at the little tree where it sat innocently on the counter. As soon as Stan turned his back...that pathetic little shrub was history.

"I know what you're thinking," he said dryly, "and nothing had better happen to that tree."

Fine. She would leave the tree. But the lights might mysteriously turn up in little tiny pieces when everyone came back to work.

"Or the lights."

Mary shifted her glare to her boss. "Marshall been giving you tips on how to get into my head?"

Stan smiled. "What can I say? I know my inspectors." The smile quickly disappeared as she started to turn towards her desk. "Mary, you don't have to be here. Strike that, you _shouldn't_ be here."

She remained stationary, turned away from her boss but not going to her desk. "Jinx and Brandi understand that I have a demanding job."

"Inspector, look at me."

The stern tone let her know that Stan wasn't fooling around. Reluctantly she met his gaze. To her surprise, the expression on his face was...worried? For her? She felt her mood soften ever so slightly.

"Mary..." Stan set his coffee mug down on the counter and planted both hands on his hips. "What do you see? And for once, lets leave off the short and bald jokes."

"My boss?" Mary guessed, nonplussed. "Is this a trick question? Some kind of pop quiz, eye exam? I didn't study."

"Your smartass comments notwithstanding; you're missing the point. Deliberately."

"There's a point?"

"Mary." Stan's brow furrowed as he glared at her. "This is going to be you someday."

A chill, like a cold finger caressed the back of Mary's neck. There was meaning under Stan's words. Something deeper that he was trying to tell her...

She ignored it. Pushed it aside. "Stan, I could never be you. I drink milk, I invested in Rogaine and I have much more cleavage. You're going to have to go through a truckload of Dunkin' Donuts before you catch up with my boobs."

She saw the defeat in his eyes. He was giving up. He wasn't going to bother trying to talk to her anymore. That had been her intent. Stan sighed in disgust and caught up his coffee mug once more. "Forget it." The diminutive man turned and strode towards his office, leaving Mary on her own.

She winced, feeling ever so slightly guilty for her deliberate harshness. Shaking it off, she shrugged. Stan was used to her style.

The inspector crossed to her desk and settled into her chair. She had paperwork that she could complete somewhere...she was sure of it. Her long fingers were already rifling through the stacks of files that festooned her desktop. Green eyes drifted towards Stan's office for a moment, seeing his shadow move through the blinds. What had he been trying to tell her? She tugged too hard at one of the folders and the pile dissolved into a what appeared to be lake of papers.

Mary hissed and began to push the stacks back into a semi-orderly sequence. A glint of red caught her eye.

She stopped and scowled, eyebrows wrinkling. She had expressly forbidden Delia to place anything remotely resembling Christmas decoration on her desk. If she was not mistaken, there was something...beribboned...fouling her workspace. With a soft snarl, the marshal snatched at the object; pulling it free from the morass of forms and folders.

She froze, bewildered.

The object was rectangular; wrapped in green paper with a red bow curling around it.

A present. For her.

There was a tag attached; an origami crane. She only needed to see that to know who this gift was from.

Slowly, her fingers peeled back the bright wrappings. For once, she didn't tear the paper off haphazardly, but removed it gently.

A picture in a frame. Mary stared in bemusement at her own face. She was sitting at her desk, covered in the shredded remains of WitSec files. Her partner was at her side, smiling broadly at the camera and holding his fingers up as bunny ears behind her head. This must have been the second shot Stan took, because she was looking up, but her expression hadn't had time to morph from 'surprised' to 'horrified'.

Marshall.

With a sigh, she gently unfolded the little crane tag. Marshall's neat handwriting stood out on the creamy paper.

_Same time next year? _

Mary touched the smooth glass over her partner's smiling face. With a leap and a bound, the specter of guilt charged back up her mental stairwell to close both bony hands over her shoulders. The fingers dug into her flesh with chilling power. Mary bit her lip fiercely.

With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from the picture and focused on her boss's office. Lights inside the Chief Inspector's office swam and wavered in her sight; blurring in the tears she so desperately wanted to fight down.

It had to be her imagination. Instead of her boss, there was a woman sitting at the desk. A woman with blond hair and green eyes, glaring through the glass at the holiday decorations. Grayer, older, (still hot) but undeniably _her_.

That was her future.

Mary leaned back in her chair, her hand covering her mouth. That was what Stan was trying to tell her.

Ten years from now...fifteen...twenty...if she continued her life the way she was steering right now, she would end up like Stan. A life built around her career, instead of her family. Filling out paperwork on Christmas Eve because there really wasn't anywhere else to be. Alone.

Mary blinked and a tear streaked down her cheek. Her vision was clear again, and Stan was sitting at his desk once more, bald head bent over his work.

Her life was centered on her job. It consumed her time until there was almost nothing left. Friends, family...all of it was blocked out to a very large extent by her work. She couldn't mix the two, that was for certain. No part of her work could be shared with anyone outside of WitSec. Her family resented it. Jinx, Brandi...both of them had told her that they hated the fact that they couldn't know what it was she spent her days doing. Raph...Raph had also hated her job. Admittedly, she hadn't tried very hard to include him in her life, but even when she _did_ try, she found her career to be an obstacle.

Until she had met Marshall, she had no friends. There hadn't been time to pursue a friendship outside of work, and all of her co-workers were quickly put off by her abrasive and abusive character.

Then she had followed a fugitive into a house in Boston. She had stumbled onto a terrified couple hiding in the back of a closet, and a tall, geeky, information spewing cowboy had walked into her life. She had faced a crossroads at that point in time. Would she follow him into the world of WitSec, or continue her life of isolation?

Somewhat to her surprise, she had chosen to shift her path. Partly because she was given a glimpse of the change she could affect in others' lives, and partly because she was intrigued by the mystery that was U.S. Marshal, Marshall Mann.

Mary slowly put the photo down on her desk and stared at it. She was at another crossroad, right now.

Did she want this to be her life? A U.S. Marshal forever and...that's all? A woman who stayed behind on Christmas Eve to work, because work was all she had? She could see herself in Stan's position. Chief Inspector. Heading a branch of WitSec.

Marshall wouldn't be there.

He was already choosing to devote time elsewhere; outside of work. His focus was shifting from the job to an Albuquerque detective. If she became a Chief Inspector one day, she wouldn't be _his _ boss. She would be moved to another office.

They would still be friends...but Abigail would be there. She would be the center of _his_ world, and Mary would have her job. They wouldn't spend their days together dealing with the annoying reprobates of society. She would hardly ever see him.

Was this the life she wanted?

Her finger gently traced the glass over Marshall's face again. She had hurt him.

Mary lowered her head onto her desk, wishing she could take back all of her unkind words. Tears burned in the back of her throat.

"Mary."

The blonde marshal's head jerked up in surprise. She hadn't heard Stan's footsteps. Her boss stood in front of her desk, his brown eyes casually sweeping over the mess she had made. Eyebrows crawled up his forehead in an unspoken question.

The inspector hesitated. Glanced at the picture of her and her partner. Made her eyes travel back to her boss. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. There was something she needed to ask, if only the words would come out...

"Something on your mind, Inspector?"

She closed her eyes. "Do you ever regret it?" Did he ever regret spending his life on work?

Stan pushed his hands into his pockets and blew out his breath. "Sometimes." He pursed his lips in thought and rocked on the balls of his feet. "This isn't the life for everyone. You have to decide if this is all you want. There have been times when I wanted more...but I love my job. And this is where I am. Just make sure that this is what _you_ want, and not what you forced on yourself by pushing everyone out of the way."

"That's very good," she said softly, a little of her former attitude sneaking back into her voice. "Oprah or Dr. Phil?"

He smiled. "Go home."

For once, she didn't fight him. With a sigh, Mary pushed herself to her feet. Her hand hovered for a moment, then seized the picture.

Stan noticed, she was sure. He didn't comment. It was times like this when she loved her boss.

Mary moved around her desk and started towards the door. She stopped as she passed her boss and before he could react, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. A 'thank you' for prodding her to examine her life.

Her feet carried her out of the office quickly, to avoid anymore talking. She needed to think more. Make a decision. This was an important crossroads she was coming to, and she wanted to make sure she made the right choice.

0-0-0-0

Her mind was a whirl all the way home. She barely noticed paltry things like speed limits and traffic lights. (hopefully she had obeyed all of them).

What did she want from her life?

A life spent working? Stan's life?

Or something else? And _if _something else, what?

Mary pulled her car into her driveway and turned off the engine. She pulled her keys out of the ignition and levered herself out of the vehicle, still in the same thoughtful trance that had consumed her mind throughout the entire drive home.

Work wasn't so bad, after all. Lots of people devoted their lives to their careers. The idea of years of Christmas Eve's spent alone suddenly flickered through her mind and she winced. She had been alone throughout most of her life. She was alone now. She was...

She was...

Was...

What the _hell_ was _that? !_

Mired in her own thoughts, she had totally missed the dark form sitting on her doorstep until it stirred at her approach. Mary was already snatching her weapon out and taking aim, adrenaline shooting through her system with the force of a bomb. "U.S. Marshal! Step away from the door!"

"Whoa! Easy!" The figure rose slowly, hands held up.

It was hard to see in the darkness, but the voice was unmistakeable. Mary immediately dropped the barrel of her firearm, weak with relief.

"Marshall? !"

0-0-0-0

**That's all for now, folks. I love, crave and need reviews! *beg, beg, whimper, plead* Again, I apologize for the lateness of my posting. The next chapter should be up in a week, so I will see you all next Sun. :)**


	5. The End of It?

**Greetings...and apologies. I am SO sorry that this has taken so long to get out. Excuses...well, there aren't any. Lazy, that's one. Oh, and preparations for a massive road trip. I suppose that could be an excuse...for you see, I am posting this chapter over 2000 miles away from my home. In...(drum roll please)**

**ALBUQUERQUE!**

**That's right. My darling sibling beta and I are on a road trip and we spent yesterday walking around Old Town and squealing as we recognized places that we've seen in IPS. We're very obsessed, but this place is awesome. :)**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, particularly those who reviewed anonymously, since I cannot reply through the system. Sorry again for the delay, and I hope you all enjoy the chapter!**

**0-0-0-0**

Mary swore loudly as her pistol dropped to her side. With cold-numbed fingers, she attempted to re-holster her weapon, only to realize that her hands were trembling too badly. She had just drawn a loaded gun on her best friend. If he hadn't spoken...

A gentle hand closed over her long fingers; stilling them. She took a few moments to breath deeply. He was close. So close she could smell the lingering scent of the soap he used. Or maybe it was detergent's aroma clinging to his clothes. Marshall's large hand carefully pulled her gun away from her shaking grasp.

He was the only man in the world she would have allowed to take her weapon from her without one hell of a fight.

Without a word, he re-holstered her Glock for her.

And that was why. She trusted him like no other. Because he would help her, he would support her when she needed it, but he wouldn't smother her with his good intentions. As much as he wanted to at times (he thought she didn't notice, but she _did_.) he never treated her like the damsel in distress. He would give her as much help as he knew that she _needed_, and then he would wait for her to ask for more. She resented his interference at times, even when she knew that she needed his assistance, but he never bent. He didn't allow her to bully him.

Mary looked up into his face. She couldn't see his features. The only light nearby came from a streetlamp, and he had his back to it.

She wanted to apologize.

She wanted to tell him exactly what she had been thinking about all the way home...

Mary opened her mouth to speak.

"Idiot! What the hell are you doing here? !"

The harsh words flew out on a cloud of frozen breath, and in her fevered imagination she saw them strike his face like a slap.

Why did she _do_ that? !

To her surprise, she felt his coat vibrate. He was...laughing? Or shaking with rage?

A chuckle broke the sudden stillness that had fallen between them. It spilled from lips hidden from her eyes. He was laughing. "I was worried about you," he finally said. "So I came back."

Story of their partnership. She would push, kick, and shove him away. Sometimes he moved away in disgust; angry with her cavalier treatment.

He always came back.

Her mind flashed back to a night in the WitSec office as she prepared to go home. Marshall's eyes focusing on her with difficulty as he declared that he was smart. He knew things. He knew why she told Raphael her big secret.

He had been so incensed that she had told Raph, but as angry as he had been, he had stayed by her side. Snide comments and all.

"Why didn't you wait inside?" He knew where the spare key was, right?

"Well I was going to," Marshall shoved his hands into his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders against the chill air. "but the key's gone missing."

In a flash, Mary remembered that her sister had taken and lost the spare key three weeks ago. "Oh crap. Brandi...you know what, never mind." she dug her keys out of her pocket quickly and stepped past her partner towards the door. "How long have you been here?"

His reply was mumbled inaudibly as Mary unlocked her door and pushed it open. Flicking on the lights, she turned to face him as he stepped in behind her and closed the door again.

Mary's jaw dropped. "Marshall! How long were you out there? !"

The lawman's nose was a brilliant red, fading towards purple. His ears were also resplendent and the absence of gloves assured her that his hands had to be turning pretty colors too. Now that she observed him closely, his long, lean body was trembling from exposure to the cold.

He shrugged uneasily. "I wasn't exactly running a timer..."

She stared at him, jaw slightly agape. He must have come back right after she left. Mary swallowed hard. He had come back. Even after she had hurt him, he had come back. Not only that, but he had waited for her. Instead of leaving in a further state of disgust when he realized that she wasn't home, he had waited on her front step in the cold.

"Come on," she said, voice slightly husky. "I'll make some coffee."

0-0-0-0

Mary kept her eyes on her own mug of coffee. If she stared at the black, bitter brew she wouldn't have to see her partner's purple fingers slowly return to their normal color as he wrapped them around his own cup.

The kitchen was filled with silence, but it wasn't a silence that she was terribly uncomfortable with. He was waiting for her to speak. He did that a lot. Maybe that's why this silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was practiced. Habit, almost. He could tell she had something on her mind and was calmly waiting for her to blurt it out.

"So," she said quietly as she tapped her fingers around the rim of her mug. "Been thinking."

"It did seem like there was something fermenting beneath the surface of your normally calm veneer."

"Sarcasm duly noted, if not appreciated." She allowed a wry smile to tip the corner of her mouth as her eyes darted up for a moment.

Marshall grinned. "Does this line of thought have something to do with where you went at ten in the evening on Christmas Eve?"

He didn't say, 'leaving your partner to sit on your doorstep for over an hour', but it was implied.

"Oddly enough it does." Mary leaned her elbows onto her island, her fingers weaving together around the warm ceramic surface of her cup. "I went back to the office. I was going to do some paperwork."

"Despite the fact that you finished it all earlier this evening?" Marshall queried, one eyebrow raising ever so slightly. "Or were you going to attempt a time jump, going back before you actually did the paperwork to stop yourself from doing it, therefore leaving it undone for just such..." He caught the look in the blonde marshal's eyes and shut his mouth quickly, holding up his palms in a 'peace' gesture.

"It was either that or unfold your little origami zoo," she snapped.

"Dare I ask...?"

"Check the shredder when you get back to the office. Can I continue? Without any further references to time travel?" She glared over the rim of her mug as she took a sip.

Marshall placed his elbow on the island and leaned his chin against his palm, fixing his blue eyes on her with an expression of rapt attention.

"Stan was there," she continued. "And he said some things that made me think about what I want." Green eyes returned to the depths of her coffee, as though the meaning to life would be found in the swirling brown liquid. Her fingers tapped against the side of her mug in agitation. The question that had been filling her mind throughout the whole drive home was spilling over the edge of her reticence. "Do I want my job to be my life forever?" One hand dug into her hair. A curious burning sensation was filling the back of her throat, making her next words come out as a whisper. "And if I don't..." she swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. "If I don't, what else is there?"

She brought her eyes back up to meet his; looked him full in the face. Did he just wince? No, it must have been her imagination.

0-0-0-0

Her words found the small raw patch that had never really healed. The part of his heart that would be hers and hers alone for always and forever. Marshall wanted to tell her that there was him. The words escaped from that scraped, upbraided, bleeding portion of his heart and tried to leap from his tongue before his brain could stop them.

It almost caused him physical pain not to tell her that _he_ was there. Because he wasn't. He could feel his face twist in a wince. Brain and heart were at odds. His heart wanted to leap at the small opening she was giving him in the blind hope that _this_ time she would actually hear him, regardless of all the scars the poor organ carried to belie the optimism.

His brain coldly reminded him that he had to be up at five in the morning because he had a long drive to make. With Abigail.

Mary looked up suddenly and met his gaze. Her eyes were so...unguarded. That was unusual. She looked much younger than she normally did.

What could he tell her? Driving people away was, in some ways, her favorite sport. Mary made very, _very_ few friends. Her acerbic wit made her less than popular with those she interacted with. In polite circles she had earned the less than complimentary title 'heinous bitch.' Those were the _polite_ circles.

Mary's life was her job.

And him. He was her only friend. Because Mary's life was her job, and he was her partner, her life was also wrapped around him.

But he couldn't be the 'something else' that she was looking for. He had thought for a long time that maybe he could be, and he had tried to be patient. He had watched her with Raph, knowing that she was in a relationship that she wasn't comfortable with. Knowing..._knowing_ that Raphael was not the man for her. Raphael wanted to be the White Knight that rushed to save the princess. The problem was Mary just happened to be the princess who broke herself out of her tower, killed the ogre with her bare hands, and then went on to have her own adventures before the White Knight got there. And she kind of resented the implication that she _needed_ to be saved.

So Marshall waited. Only to find out that she was engaged. The race was over, Raphael had somehow won. Except...

Except he hadn't. Mary returned her engagement ring to her pocket after Marshall's finger was liberated. Something was not right. He looked at his best friend, and saw with sorrow that she was unhappy with the choices she was making. She did not actually want to marry Raphael. While that gave him some hope, it also caused his heart to bleed for her sake. She was going down a path that would inevitably lead to heartache. And it did. Raphael ended the engagement and the lanky lawman could see how badly it had hurt her. Better though, to have this pain now than to be married to someone who didn't understand her and never would. Someone who, in Marshall's opinion, did not deserve her. It wasn't that Raphael was a bad person, but his constant attempts to 'help' Mary showed that he did not understand her, and was not willing to try. Raphael had an ideal, and he was trying to push Mary into that place. Mary never did take well to being pushed.

So Marshall waited.

There was a moment, when he told her that she needed something messy. A moment when he thought he saw realization flash behind her green eyes. But Stan walked by and she quickly departed, leaving messy behind. Frustration and defeat warred within him at that point in time. He had been so close...but she had run before he could actually say the words. A small flicker of hope had lit though. He had _almost_ told her. Certainly given her food for thought. Hadn't she said she was thinking?

Then he discovered the identity of her travel companion.

Too much. It was just too much. He had to save what was left of his shattered heart and give it to someone else. Mary Shannon would grind the broken pieces under her heel into powder without even realizing what she was doing.

So Marshall stopped waiting and deliberately looked elsewhere. He had found someone who did not resemble Mary in any way, shape or form. Someone who he wouldn't look at and be reminded of his partner. Abigail.

Marshall gazed at his partner. He didn't know what to tell her.

Mary cocked her head to one side, her eyebrows drawing together in a V. "Hello? Marshall? Are you still there?"

"Yes," he quickly responded, pulling himself out of his own musings with a jerk.

0-0-0-0

Mary stared at her partner in confusion. "Where did you go?" He had looked...sad. For her?

"Sorry," Marshall smiled as he quickly raised his mug and took a sip. "Just...thinking about what you said."

"A little less thinking and a little more responding would be great."

"If I don't have time to think you're going to get some very bizarre responses."

"Like that's anything new and exciting? You always respond bizarrely. Come on. Decision time here. Life as a U.S. Marshal or...?"

"Did you know that in the late 1800's a U.S. Marshal was responsible for the funeral expenses of a fugitive they killed, while if _they_ died in the line of duty their family received no compensation?"

Mary stared at him. "Okay, first things first. I can't believe you know that, but I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised."

"Also, it was the custom of sheriffs to send out invitations to the hangings of more well known criminals."

The blonde marshal made a face. "That's disturbing. Is that an endorsement for law enforcement or a condemnation?"

"Neither," Marshall shrugged. "I just found it interesting."

Mary groaned and allowed her head to flop forward onto the island. If Marshall didn't have the answer for her hidden away in his stores of trivia...

"What do you _want_?"

"Hmmmm?" Her head came up to see his blue eyes observing her carefully.

"When you look at your life, are you happy with it? Or is there something else that you want?"

Was there? Mary straightened up slowly. What else did she want? Was there something missing that she craved?

The night's events unfolded in her mind. Her past, her present, and her possible future. Her father's absence. Her own disconnection with those close to her. A life spent working for the U.S. Marshal service...

Green eyes flickered to her partner's face.

He wouldn't be there, if that was the path she chose. Determination slowly flickered to life within her. Maybe she didn't have to choose now. Maybe she could push aside the choice of her _whole_ life to another time. There was _one_ thing she was sure of, and she made the decision at that moment.

Whatever she did.

Wherever she went.

Whichever path she traveled.

She wanted him to be there.

Mary smiled at him. "I want the moon." A real smile, but with a bitter aftertaste. She wanted him there, but it might not be a possibility. His life was moving in another direction already. He was wrapping his energy around another woman. Until now, Mary had known without a doubt that she was the most important person to Marshall. With a pang, she realized that it might not be true for very much longer. Marshall was not the kind of person to go halfway with loyalty, and there could only ever be one 'main woman' in his life. With a sigh, she pushed her coffee mug away and rose to her feet. "I'm gonna go kick my shoes into the closet," she said. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable on the couch if you want to regale me with more trivia."

He grinned. "Will do."

0-0-0-0

Marshall rose to his feet with a groan, stretching. He heard Mary's bedroom door close softly as he took her cup and his own to the sink. His eyebrows rose slightly as he noted the clock in the trashcan. Batteries must have run down and made it keep unconventional time. So like Mary to throw the whole thing out as soon as it started annoying her.

The lanky lawman checked his watch and sighed. It was almost midnight. He really should get going. He had to get up extremely early.

So why were his feet carrying him into Mary's living room?

Settling onto the couch, he slouched into a comfortable position and let his head fall back. He had made his decision. He had chosen to move on. He had chosen Abigail.

And yet...

And yet he waited outside in the cold for over an hour to sit on the couch of another woman. Marshall yawned widely. It was a subject that required a great deal of analysis...and thought...and...

0-0-0-0

Mary opened her bedroom door and stepped out. She had taken the time to change into a pair of loose pajama pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Half hoping that Marshall had decided to leave, taking all thoughts of the future with him.

He had not.

She froze as she entered the living room.

Her partner was slouched on her couch, his head fallen back. His long legs were stretched out, arms crossed over his middle. Eyes closed. Marshall's breathing was soft and steady.

"Hey," she said quietly.

No response. He was out.

Mary shuffled forward, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. It was a smile that very few people saw. She settled onto the couch beside her slumbering partner and rested her elbow on the back; leaning against her palm.

In the silence of her home she studied his profile. She was so used to his face. The long nose, blue eyes and defined chin sat across the office from her all day, imprinting themselves indelibly on her memory. Up close there were smaller details that she was also familiar with. The small scar under the hinge of his jaw. The quirk of his lips that existed even when he wasn't actively smiling. The network of thin lines that were beginning to trace the corners of his eyes.

Green eyes flicked to his watch. The hands were both pointing straight up. Midnight.  
>The smile on her face grew wistful. "Marshall," she said softly.<p>

No response.

Assured that he was completely asleep, Mary leaned forward and lightly pressed a kiss to his forehead. She might not be the most important woman in his life, but she wanted him in hers. Whatever happened...whatever path she chose...this was what she was sure of. She _wanted_ Marshall to be there.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered.

0-0-0-0

**Well, that is a slightly melancholy note to end on...the next and last chapter should be up shortly. Hopefully before the end of the week, actually. Thank you all for your wonderful, wonderful reviews! And for your patience with my lazy butt...**

**Alright everyone, due to the horrific and hellacious ending of the series, I'm afraid that my muse dropped dead of a massive coronary. I originally intended to end this with a recap of the season 4 finale and finish on a much more positive and hopeful note...but I just can't. I'm very sorry. The ending of that show was a heinously botched mishmash of epic proportions, that destroyed my hopes and dreams for Mary and Marshall and I hope to God that whoever wrote it dies early and miserable. I really could have taken it if they had just stayed friends, but we as the rabid fans that we are were not even allowed that succor. Instead, the network ripped all that was charming and delightful away to be replaced by a backsliding of Mary's character, Marshall being shackled to an unholy harpy for life, and the rending of their friendship into tiny shredded pieces that were eaten by a passing bird and crapped out again. On my head.**

** Sorry once again. For the unfinished-ness of this story...and for the wretched ending of whole darn series.**

**THE END DAMMIT!**


End file.
